


You're Alone In A Nordstrom At Night

by d__T



Series: It's Not A Nightmare If You Don't Die [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Horror, POV Second Person, things just ain't quite what they seem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: You went to the bookstore and you had to pass through the Nordstrom to get there.Now you have to get back out.Good luck!





	You're Alone In A Nordstrom At Night

You know you’re not wanted here. You can’t afford any of this shit. You don’t want to be here either but the only way you can reliably find your way out of this massive mall is through the Nordstrom, so you’re passing through the Nordstrom and trying to not look like the type to steal things. You’re just trying to get to the bookstore before it closes and you’re late, so very late. Work went over, holiday traffic around the mall- well, money doesn’t seem to buy comprehensible parking lot layouts- and you got lost in the Weird Manikin section of the Nordstrom.

Again.

This time they’re made of angular wood blocks instead of that sleek softly sexy white plastic. You almost prefer the plastic ones; their faces reside on this side of the uncanny valley instead of the far side. Also, triangular titties. None of the clothes look good on the angles and this is taking the whole pointy female nipple thing a little too far. 

The feeling of unease persists all the way to the bookstore. Shops are closing up around you, gates rolling down and the last employee with the key eyeing you to make sure you’re not going to insist on keeping them open another minute. You just want your book, it’s been a whole week and it’s only Tuesday and the nice man behind the counter who loves your jacket says  _sorry, we can order that for you_ and you say  _okay_ and walk out anyway because plan A all along was to go home and cry and there’s a Nordstrom between you and that.

One step at a time.

The Nordstrom is bright, so bright, a beacon of toxic light in the encroaching dark of mall curfew. You make it inside, making good speed but your feet take you the way you came in and that means you’re in Weird Manikin territory again. It’s like they  _want_ you. You don’t want them, you want your bed.

And that’s the sound of a rolling gate coming down. You freeze, except to look around. Which gate? You can’t see any of the doors, fuck. You gotta go.

There’s a touch on your shoulder and you turn to face it, apology for overstaying already on your lips and it’s a manikin with its platelike hand extended. You must have bumped into it in your panic.

Thinking you came in through the jewelry area, you head off in the direction indicated by the overhead sign and the promising glitter of glass cases. It doesn’t look familiar now, but what the fuck do you know? It’s late and you’re freaked out. There’s a certain quickness to your step.

That’s when the lights go out. Not all at once; chunks all over the store, one by one, accompanied by the little pop of suddenly no electricity. The jewelry cases around you hold the last glitter of light and then it’s you, a couple of LEDs weakly illuminating a case of watches, and the occasional hey-we’re-here blink from the fire system.

_Fuck_ .

There’s a clicking. Not mechanical, like high heels on tile but light, so light. There’s someone else in here with you and that could be very good or very bad and you’re not seeing a lot of middle ground on those options. Or it could be the air handling.

It could be the air handling.

You carefully look around, moving as slowly as possible so that maybe you won’t be seen for your motion by whoever else is there, or, fuck, the alarm system. But the clicking seems to be approaching from behind so you take a little risk and look behind you.

There definitely  _wasn’t_ a manikin there before.

It’s not like it’s close, but you walked right through there a few excruciatingly long minutes ago back when the lights were still on. You think you would have noticed it  _standing in the aisle._

You’re running out of capacity to be more freaked out about things. You’ve got this nice little stress plateau going on and you’re gonna hang out on it for a little as you stare at the manikin and ignore all the other clicking sounds going on around you.

It doesn’t move.

There’s a tap on your shoulder.

You yelp and jump sideways from the touch. Your shoulder collides with something that’s far too hollow and made of wood to be a jewelry case and you know for a  _fucking fact_ that there’s not supposed to be a manikin there.

You’re surrounded.

Fear has robbed you of your ability to swear creatively but  _fuck this_ just about sums it up. You’re getting out of here.

Nordstrom is modern, it’s too trendy to have static furniture. Everything is modular, mobile, flimsy,  _moveable_ and you’re going through that cute little makeup table that’s between you and a section of aisle that’s free of manikins.

The table skids, flinging little bottles and boxes everywhere with a horrible skittering clatter.

This time you see the manikins move.

You take off down the main aisle, unwilling to risk the shadowy depths of the clothing racks. If anything, the manikins seem to be able to move better on the carpet. Their polished wooden feet don’t have much grip on the tile but they’re still moving at a speed that’s making you wish you had more.

You reach the end of the aisle, abrupt left and through handbags and hey! They don’t have fingers so the one that’s pawing at you can’t grip your clothing but oh god it’s like being hit by a five pound flyswatter.

There’s doors at the end, come on, you can run that far.

One trips out of its area and falls in front of you, clattering on the floor. Can’t go sideways, the display is too big, gotta jump. Catch your foot on in the manikins trailing cardigan, down you go.

_ow ow FUCK_

Hands and feet under you, lunge up and shed those cool flat gripless hands and hit the crash bar with both hands as hard as you can.

Later, that will hurt but now the door slams open so hard it bounces off the limiter and smacks your shoulder. An alarm is going off. You hit the second row of doors  _bang_

The air outside is shockingly cold; your lungs choke but luck is with you, your car is on the other side of the island with the sad little decorative tree growing in it. You’ve never been so happy to see that beige piece of shit.

You mash the buttons on the key, set off the car alarm because you’re running at the car and not looking at the key, probably unlock it four times and then you’re in the driver’s seat mashing the lock button and panting.

There’s no manikins outside; they didn’t follow you outside the store. You think you can see something moving inside the doors. Could be the light, though.

You have to lock and unlock the car a few more times before it stops panicking and you wish that trick would work on yourself.

_fuck, okay, time to scoot before mall cops happen._

Because if it wasn’t real, how are you gonna explain  _that_?

**Author's Note:**

> All comments appreciated! Let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what spooked you! Thanks!


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